Book of Days

And once again, it is Christmas. It is the Quiet Time of Christmas as I write this, the small hours past midnight on Christmas Eve, after the last minute rush of the day, after the realization that all will not be done (and the peace that comes along with accepting that), after the unplanned but necessary changing of a kitchen faucet for an old family friend, after the Christmas Eve dinner with family. It was the traditional Italian dinner for this night: seven fishes. Well, six fishes actually… but the bacala made an appearance in two separate dishes, so I think that counts for seven. So many fishes, but this is the tradition, and we do what our parents and grandparents did for this night, for it is what their parents and grandparents did, and so it goes, down the line. Such is the stuff of memory and tradition.

This quiet time is certainly one of the best things about Christmas in my book. The darkness is close and holy, just as Dylan Thomas described it. The lights from the Christmas tree illuminate the room and the lights from the rooftop, this year all blue and green, cast a glow into the windows. I think of all the stories of Christmas and all the magic that happens in them on this enchanted night: the gift bearers, the ghosts of Christmases past, present, and yet to come, angels like Clarence and Dudley from old black and white films, and of course the child born in a barn and laid in straw, kept warm by the breath of an ox and an ass.

Christmas is just beginning. Tomorrow, we awake to Christmas Day, more joyful celebration, to be followed then by the Twelve Days of Christmas, a traditional period of time that stands outside ordinary time, six days in the old year, six in the new. I’ll write about each day for you as it comes, beginning with St. Stephen’s Day on the 26th. The chapters come daily, my gift this yuletide to you. I hope you’ll enjoy them and share them with others. Perhaps the oddest thing about Christmas to me is that corporate America jumps on the Christmas bandwagon sometimes as early as summertime, plying their seasonal wares to us. Christmas music in the stores sometimes in October, products on the shelves come August. They whip us into a Christmas frenzy for months, and yet once Christmas actually begins, they pull the plug on it and we, in turn, are sick of it all. It’s over saturation. This is the real war on Christmas, and a great disrespect to it.

As for the folks in this house, we find the slow approach best, and we find that celebrating this season to its fullest for its full duration of twelve days is best. It keeps us at peace with the season, helps us keep it and keep it well, keeps us passionately in love with it as the years go by. And this we wish to you, as well. Merry Christmas.

Image: The view from where I am sitting this late Christmas Eve hour.